I attended a meditation and mindfulness workshop a few weeks ago. During the opening group meditation, I had one of those experiences which words are wasted on. My eyes were closed, but it felt like I was staring directly at the sun without risk of going blind. I felt as though I was travelling upwards, but my feet were on the ground. I could hear birds singing so loudly and clearly that I could have been sitting in their nests with them, but I was indoors and they were outside somewhere. I cried a little, because I couldn’t help doing so.
I haven’t meditated since, regardless of how I felt during and afterwards. Somehow, even though I spend so much time doing so little, I just haven’t and I don’t know why. Maybe I’m too reluctant to let go.
But I hit a similar euphoria yesterday. I’d been picking gooseberries on the allotment and was helping my dad put up a poly tunnel. It was so humid and I was covered in gooseberry bush battle scars and soil. We’d been going for a while, fighting against the wind to secure the structure. Suddenly, the heavens opened. My dad stepped inside the half-assembled tunnel and I followed suit without thought. Once inside, the rain on the polythene coaxed like a war drum. I began to fidget until the impulse won. I ran out and stood in the madness of blazing sunlight and torrential rain and forgot my feet were on the ground.
These forces, so much greater than us, can shake us out of our own heads and reconnect us with the universe. Remind us to think and feel outside of the space between our ears.